


Never Be Anyone Else But You

by jamjar



Category: The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Polyamory, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:07:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamjar/pseuds/jamjar
Summary: Susie Myerson is on tour with her favourite (only) client. It could be worse.
Relationships: Lenny Bruce (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel)/Miriam "Midge" Maisel, Miriam "Midge" Maisel/Susie Myerson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 79
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Never Be Anyone Else But You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/gifts).



> Set in a vague pre-season 2 place. I'm taking some liberties with timelines, but there you go. No cheating, no break- ups, just three people settling into two relationships (
> 
> (All song quotes are from songs in the billboard top 100 for 1959.)

_I've got some change in my pocket and I'm rarin' to go_

_Takin' some chick-a to the picture show_

_And when I see her home and we kiss goodnight_

_Well, turn me loose, turn me loose, turn me loose, turn me loose_

Turn me loose, Fabian

Midge is on stage. It’s not her best performance - not her worst, a solid B - but you wouldn’t know it from the audience. They’re lapping up her routine and Susie has notes, of course, she trod on her own punchline there a bit, but the audience didn’t noticed, gasped anyway when Midge drops “--what could I say? I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to clean?”

It’s not a blue show, not even close to as filthy as Midge can get given a long enough leash, but you wouldn’t know it from the way the audience reacts, all shocked delight as someone who looks like someone they’d meet at a dinner party says something mildly suggestive. Midge is lapping it up, enough for Susie to catch her eyes and mouth “Keep it clean” as big as she can. 

That’s always the danger with Midge, balancing her act, not letting the audience’s laughter take you too far for the show they wanted. There’s no real way of learning when to pull back except experience, which is why they’re touring a run of places within driving distance, where nobody knows Midge’s name. She’s got to be, not just good, but _reliable_ , before she goes tour with Shy. Reliability is a comedian’s most under-rated virtue, in Susie’s opinion. Funny gets you a good review for one show. Reliability gets you a steady gig.

There’s more to it than that - Midge has to work on her stamina, turning out thirty, forty minutes, even a full hour night after night, but Susie’s less worried about that. Midge always has something to say and hates to leave the audience. 

The routine is meant to go into a bit about this diner they stopped at in Philadelphia, but Midge swings into the bit about her parents’ beds, and it’s good, yeah, old but new to this audience, but it pushes the early-evening buzz enough that Susie can see the owner start to frown, and this, this is what she means, this is why they’re doing this. Susie slips off her barstool - which makes her shorter, dammit, and tries to catch Midge’s eye and--

Midge pulls it back, softens the punchline, keeps it risque rather than raunchy, and glances over at Susie. Susie mimes cutting her throat. _Very funny,_ she mouths. Midge grins.

“Two more of what the lady’s having.”

“I ain’t in the mood to be polite, so I’m just going to tell you to get lost,” Susie says automatically, getting back on her barstool, before the voice registers as familiar.

“Who said one of them was for you?” Lenny Bruce says, pulling up the stool next to her. “And that was you being polite?”

“Well I could have told you to fuck off,” she says, turning to face him. He’s in a suit, ready for stage. A little baggy under the eyes, the way most comedians who aren’t Midge look when they’re good enough to be working frequently, but not regularly enough to settle into sleeping properly. He slides the whisky over to her anyway, takes a sip of the one he’s keeping, turning to face the stage. Susie doesn’t like whisky much, which is why she orders it when she’s waiting for Midge to finish her act - the taste makes her drink it slow, and she likes to stay on top of her game when Midge is performing. Still, a free drink is a free drink, so she takes a sip. 

“I didn’t see you on the playbill,” Susie says. She leans back, elbows on the bar. It’s the same pose as Lenny. There’s something about that that makes her feel odd, being in the same position as Lenny Bruce. There aren’t that many ways to lean on a bar, but it still gives her an oddly sympathetic feeling, like they have something in common just because they’re both feeling the same uncomfortable line from the bar pushing on their back, same cold glass in one hand, facing the same direction to look at Midge on stage.

It’s not a bad feeling, exactly, which is why Susie doesn’t trust it. She shifts her glass to her other hand and leans forward a little, like she’s focussing on Midge. 

Midge is wearing a pink dress and white gloves. It softens the edge of some of her jokes, makes some sharper in contrast. It’s very… Mrs Maisel, the one Susie sees the edges of when she’s talking about her friend, Ingenue or whatever, or her life before she got on stage herself. The one that made brisket to smooth her husband’s way and schmoozed with the rabbi and could be trusted with birthday parties and baby showers, that had summer in the Catskills and only went to places like this for fun, never work.

Susie wonders what Lenny Bruce sees when he looks at her.

“Private gig,” Lenny says. “Got some time to kill, thought I’d check the competition.” He takes another drink, eyes on Midge. “How long does she have?”

“Fifty minutes,” Susie says, a little smug. Yeah, she’s on early, but fifty minutes is a hell of a lot better than ten, and she knows damn well that’s what the guy on before her had.

She’s got Lenny in the corner of her eye, and she can see him watching Midge. He’s not watching like the other comedians do, which is mostly resentful - because she’s funnier on her worst days than they are on their best - and angry - because _she’s_ funnier on her worst days.

Lenny’s watching Midge like she’s funny, like he admires her, and like he’s counting her beats. Same way Susie does, though she works to hide her admiration. It doesn’t do Midge good to get complacent, and it’s Susie’s job to keep her sharp.

It’s-- good, seeing him look at Midge like that. Makes something in Susie glow with satisfaction, because it’s Lenny Fucking Bruce, and he’s looking at Midge with Professional Fucking Assessment. Like Midge is an equal, and she’s not _yet_ \- not getting on the Steve Allen show any time soon - but she’s on her way.

Susie found her, Susie didn’t put her on stage - Midge did that herself, drunk and in a nightgown - but Susie got her _back_ on stage, and every bit of her routine, she and Susie have taken it apart and put it back together ten different times. Susie’s never felt the urge to get on stage, not even a little, but she loves seeing Midge do her act better, knowing that she’s had a hand in that.

Speaking of, they’re heading into the midway mark. Midge is back on track, a nice domestic piece about her parents meeting the in-laws. It’s a good bit, clean enough for the matinee crowd, funny enough to keep them laughing after midnight, and Susie doesn’t like the way Midge slides into it with a “my husband’s parents”. Doesn’t like the way Joel Maisel bleeds into Midge’s act, the way he’s still a part of her life. But it’s a good bit, and Midge has got it down slick, getting to the punch line. She glances over at Susie as she makes it and must see Lenny sitting next to her. Lenny raises his glass in a toast. Midge doesn’t skip a beat in her patter, but she gives a little smile at him.

It’s nothing, but Susie feels like an idiot because she hears herself think, “Huh, I wonder if they--” and that’s a new thought, but it’s a thought she could have had, should have had before. Not that they have already, because she’d know - Midge wouldn’t keep schtum about something like that - but that they might. They’re two - well, they’re a guy and a girl, both off the back of a wrong marriage, and there’s a certain kind of movie that would put them as inevitable, purely on the basis of that.

Maybe it’s the kind of thought someone else would have had already, automatically. She can hear her ma and her sister matchmaking over the kitchen table, _“they’ve got so much in common”, “they’d look good together”_ and _“isn’t it time she found someone?”_ , and she has a moment of panic, because fuck, Midge’s career can’t take being Mrs Bruce, and then she has a second moment of, but what if it’s good for her? Lenny Bruce has contacts, Lenny Bruce knows people who get their business cards made up professionally, and then where will Susie be? And Susie wants Midge to be exactly the success she knows she can be, _but she wants to the one taking her there._

She squashes the panic, drinks another sip of her whisky and turns to get the barman’s attention. Midge’ll be off stage soon, and she’ll want tea for her throat. It’s always an argument to get that at a bar.

“Hell of a comedian,” Lenny says. He knocks back his drink, turns and gestures for another. “What are you doing up here anyway? This isn’t exactly New York.” It’s not even Philadelphia, just one of the stops on Susie’s carefully worked out tour, part of her attempt to get Midge more experience before she heads out with Shy Baldwin.”Are you still having trouble booking gigs for her?” He asks.

Susie shakes her head - it’s not the truth anymore, and definitely won’t be after she opens for Shy. “She’s on her way up. Just needs some practice with audiences outside of the city.”

The audience laughs again and Lenny tilts his head. “Doesn’t sound like it.”

It’s exactly the kind of compliment Susie wants for Midge from him. She relaxes a little. Lenny isn’t a Joel. Lenny likes who Midge is on stage. She gets out her business cards, flicks through until she finds a good one and hands it to him. “If you’re ever looking for an opening act…”

He takes it, smiling a little, but he takes it and looks back at Midge on stage. She’s glowing under the stage lights - they don’t wash her out, the way they do some people, and not when she’s feeling the show like this. 

She shifts her glass back to her right hand and lets it clink against Lenny’s, and they watch Midge close the set.

_Does she need me, as she pretends_

_Is this a game, well then will I win_

_It's a lover's question, I'd like to know_

A Lover’s Question - Clyde McPhatter

Susie is sleeping when Midge gets in. She wakes up when the door opens, hears Midge trying to be quiet, slipping into the bathroom to start going through her nightly routine. She brings her arm up and there’s just enough light from the crack in the doorway from the bathroom for her to make out the time. 2:02 AM.

It’s almost a relief, the way it is when the shoe finally drops. It was going to happen, and now it has, and whatever they did - and honestly, Midge is not quite considerate enough to bother keeping quiet coming home at two am after _just taking_ , so it’s something - has happened, and now she’s here. 

Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough to keep her there all night, which is good because they have a long drive in the morning. Susie doesn’t know what it means, but, well. Midge is here.

She keeps still as Midge finishes in the bathroom and tiptoes back in. The sound of her opening up her suitcase is loud in the silence, the rustling of her clothes as she changes into her pyjamas noisy enough that it sounds like someone’s got the volume wrong on a cinema, playing it twice as loud as it should be. There’s a light coming in from the window where the curtains aren’t quite drawn, bright enough for Susie to see the edges of the ceiling.

Midge gets into her bed and exhales, quietly, like she’s got away with it.

“So, nice night?” Susie says.

Midge jumps a little in the corner of her eye, lets out a little gasp of surprise. “You gave me a heart attack!” 

“Right. I’m not your mother, you don’t need to sneak in through the window after spending all night with a boy.”

“I wasn’t sneaking in,” Midge says. “I just didn’t want to wake you up. I was being considerate.”

“Sure. Now me, I think if you’re old enough to stay out all night--” 

“It’s not ‘all night’--”

“--Then you’re old enough to not try to sneak in like you’re sixteen late back from a dance.”

“Like my parents would have let me come back late from a dance,” Midge says. “Have you met Abe and Rose Weissman? I couldn’t even--”

It’s a distraction, Midge trying to avoid the situation, and for some reason it makes Susie more irritated than she was with Midge sneaking back from spending not-quite-the-night with Lenny. Like Susie is someone she has to handle, has to manage around her real life, the way she does her parents. It puts every one of her nerves on edge, because Susie isn’t them. Susie is the one backstage with Midge. “Your parents won’t be happy with you swapping out a doctor for a comedian.” Susie interrupts. “They make lousy fiancés, you know. Very unreliable, not good at the whole settling down thing.”

“For someone who isn’t my mother, you’re doing an excellent job channelling her,” Midge snaps. “He’s not-- it’s not about that. I’m not looking for that.”

There’s a note in her voice Susie can’t read. She tries to keep her voice calm, normal. “Not missing making brisket and gossiping with the girls?” 

Midge gives half a laugh, and then says, “Honestly, I do.” Midge says. Her voice is low, a little rough the way it gets after a long show. “Not all the time, not most of the time, but…” She sounds sincere enough to make Susie tense. “I liked my life. I was good at it. That doesn’t mean I want it back.”

“Yeah?

“I guess I don’t miss it enough.” Another silence, and then, lower, “I think I’m too greedy.”

“Don’t want to give up all of this?” Susie says, and wants to bite her tongue, because this is one of those times when she knows she should be sincere, or lie, or not say any of the things that might remind Midge that they’re in a crappy hotel after a gig that paid less than she’d make connecting phone calls.

“Oh, well, it’s such a glamourous life,” Midge says, and Susie relaxes at the flippant tone. She hears Midge rustle, turning over in her bed. She’s pretty sure Midge has turned to face her, but she stays on her back, looking up at the ceiling. “You’ve killed the mood,” Midge says, but not angry. Teasing.

“Oh, there was a mood?” Susie says, taking the olive branch. 

“There was a mood,” Midge says, sounding a little smug, a little pleased with herself.

“Okay, well, I’m happy for you,” Susie says. And it’s more true than not. “Good you got yourself a nice mood.” 

There’s something comfortable in this, something easier than the sincerity they were drifting in to. The light from outside turns itself off, making the room that much darker.

“I missed it,” Midge says. In the soft darkness, her voice lowered, she sounds closer than she is.

“Sex?” Susie says, keeping her voice flat, unimpressed. 

“Not just that,” Midge says dismissively. “Having someone you know. Someone who knows you.”

There are a lot of things Susie could say to that, starting with, “did your husband ever know you? Really?”, but she goes with, “Didn’t realise you were that close.”

“I-- we’re not, I guess. Not like-- I don’t know his birthday, or his favourite meal, or his parents’ names or anything, but… you know, he gets it. He gets me. You know that feeling?”

Susie closes her eyes and thinks of Grace, of meeting eyes with her across the bar and thinking, yes, her, she knows. Feeling that sense of recognition like how coming back home looked in the movies, the way it had felt easy - like Susie didn’t have to try to be harder or softer than she already was, didn’t have to pretend like she knew what she was doing, didn’t have to explain or justify herself or why she was the way she was.

The thing with Lenny Bruce-- well, maybe it’s fine. Maybe even good, on the whole. Lenny isn’t in any danger of stealing Midge from her career or Susie’s place in it. Not that she was worried, exactly, but-- well, the hard truth is, Midge has options, if comedy gets too hard, and god knows, it can get hard. Susie’s seen enough comics, some as funny as Midge, some with the same shine on stage, getting dull and mean at too many late nights and bad gigs. Midge had a life before comedy, and Susie’s pretty sure she could step back in to it, maybe with a new husband, maybe the old one, if she really wanted to. 

And more than that, there’s a part of her that’s just sort of happy for her. It’s a small part, and underneath a lot of pettiness and maybe even a bit of fear, but it’s there. She’s not going to begrudge Midge getting laid, not when she could do a lot worse.

She relaxes, lets herself speculate that, just maybe, this won’t be the worst thing.

_'cause you got personality,_

_Walk, personality_

_Talk, Personality_

_Smile, Personality_

_Charm, personality_

_Love, personality_

_And of Cause you've got_

_A great big heart_

Personality, Lloyd Price

The thing with living alone is, you get out of the habit of living with people. It’s not just being around them, fighting over the radio, how long Midge took getting ready, if Susie had used up all the hot water - it was a motel, there was no way Susie could have used up all the hot water - or the good stuff, the way Midge automatically picks up Susie’s clothes, folds them up so they don’t get creased, the way she always brings coffee when she wakes Susie up. 

It’s the other stuff, the bit that isn’t just about living in roughly four foot of space in the car, and maybe 10 foot in a motel room, but about living with Midge. 

After she’d moved out, she’d had a couple of roommates she’d hated, everyone trying to spend as little time as possible in the same room, and there had been Grace for a year that had felt like longer at the time and felt like no time at all now. No-one she’d had to watch herself around. 

Grace was the last person she’d lived with, and after that, Susie had done everything she could to make sure she didn’t have to live with anyone ever again. Grace had been a disaster, because the problem with mostly going for women like you was that you ended up with someone with all the same issues, always on guard against being taken advantage of, neither of them any good at giving in. Grace sprained an ankle at work and refused to admit it for a week, and Susie did all her mending at the Gaslight because she didn’t want Grace to get ideas about Susie being soft. Stupid, in retrospect - hell, Susie knew it was stupid at the time, but not enough to actually stop.

After Grace, Susie had lived alone for as long as she could manage, because it was better than living with anyone else. Alone, you didn’t have to worry about anyone hurting you, and you didn’t have to worry about hurting anyone else. And now, she’s living with Midge.

Midge pads around their shared hotel room in her nightdress or pyjamas or slip, and she - well, she knows Susie likes women, but maybe she’s slotted that into some other category, because she doesn’t seem to care. Midge doesn’t let the bellboy see her without lipstick, but she sat in their room in her slip for hours because she needed to let her hair air-dry. She knows what Midge’s elbows feel like jabbing into her in a diner booth, what her head feels like - surprisingly heavy - when she dozes off in the car. She’s helped her do up her dresses, Midge inhaling as Susie pulls up the zip or does the buttons. It feels oddly more intimate than when she helps undo them at the end of the night.

Susie’s not quite sure what to make of it. Midge had been in a sorority. Midge had lived with more girls than Susie had, four years of them, and Midge knew - well, she knew Susie liked women, and maybe this was just how those kind of girls were around each other, when you never had to think about if you were looking too long or for the wrong reasons. The closest Susie had come to that was the two months she’d spent sharing a dorm in the Catskills. That had been easy- those girls were girls, had made Susie feel old and cynical. She was pretty sure that one of them, Lottie, had looked at Susie like she wanted to ask something, but Susie had ignored it. 

The point was, none of them was Midge. They were a bit like her, spent as much time on their hair, nails and the rest of it, but they weren’t the same. Midge was better at the things they were still practising, more confident. Susie watched sometimes, out of the corner of her eye. There’s something fascinating about it, every move precise, purposeful, and at the end, all the softness was there like it was a choice Midge had made. Lipstick and perfume as carefully chosen as any of her words on stage, and calculated for a precise effect. Midge never tried to persuade Susie to try, but she never acts embarrassed about it either.

Midge had said in her act that she never let her husband see her like that, only as the finished product. It makes something in Susie feel smug to be able to watch it, same as she felt watching Midge go through one of her routines on stage, when Susie was the only one in the audience that knew the work that had gone into making it perfect. There was an intimacy in the whole thing, seeing behind the curtain like that.

And there was listening to Midge sleep, and fighting over breakfast and sitting in the motel room waiting for it to be late enough to head over to the venue, Midge writing letters or going through her notes, Susie with a newspaper, pencilling in the crossword. Susie darning her socks and fixing where Midge stepped on her hem, while Midge makes sandwiches for the car journey.

It’s a tour, and Susie knows it’s not the same as living with someone, not really, but it’s a kind of closeness Susie isn’t used to. Doesn’t have defenses for.

_She comes on like a rose but everybody knows_

_She'll get you in Dutch_

_You can look but you better not touch_

_Poison ivy, poison ivy_

_Late at night while you're sleepin'_

_Poison ivy comes a-creepin' around_

Poison Ivy - Coasters

Susie unpacks while Midge sweet-talks the motel owner into letting her use his phone to call home. She puts Midge’s green dress on a hanger in the bathroom to let the creases drop - and since Midge isn’t here yet, she runs herself a deep bath, stays in there until she hears Midge come back. If - when - she makes it big, she’s getting a house with eight bathtubs, one for every day of the week and a spare for guests.

Getting out is hard, but she forces herself out, rubs her hair dry with a towel and then wraps it around herself. Midge looks up from where she’s sat at the desk opposite the beds when Susie goes into the room. “Green dress?” She asks.

“On a hanger in the bathroom,” Susie says. Midge nods. She keeps looking at Susie, sort of thoughtful. “You need me to do your back?” Susie offers miming the zip.

Midge jumps, like Susie startled her. “No, I’m good,” she says. “Sorry, I was just miles away.”

Susie shrugs, finishes getting ready for bed and gets under the covers. Midge is still sitting at the desk.

“It’s a long drive tomorrow,” Susie says. “Are you coming to bed?” She hears the words a second after she’s said them, but it would be more awkward to correct it to “going”. 

“Yes! Sorry, just--” Midge shakes her head and heads to the bathroom. It’s been a long day - sitting in a car is more exhausting than it should be. Susie reaches out and switches the lights off. The nights have been late enough that it feels early to sleep, but it’s another long drive tomorrow.

She can hear Midge in the bathroom. She tries to ignore it, tries even harder when Midge gets out, a brief flash of light from the bathroom before Midge switches it off.

Midge gets into bed. Susie can hear her turn over, one way, and then the other, and then sigh. She turns over again, blankets shifting noisily.

“Susie?” Her voice is low, but not low enough. “Are you awake?”

“No.” 

She hears Midge shifting about again, then hears her feet hit the motel carpet. She keeps her eyes closed, hoping Midge’s just getting a glass of water. 

“Susie?” Midge says. Susie opens her eyes to tell her to go back to bed, they’ve got a drive in the morning and Midge is close enough to kiss her, and then she does. One hand on the pillow next to Susie’s head, leaning down slowly enough that Susie could have done something, if she’d figured out what Midge was doing before her mouth was on hers. Lipstick, floral scent of her perfume where it hadn’t quite worn off, and Midge’s mouth on hers, long enough that Susie should do something do-- what should she do? Her hand is up and on Midge’s shoulder and she doesn’t know what to do with that either, push her away or pull her in.

Midge makes the decision before she can do either, moving back to sit on her bed. Susie pushes herself to sit up, back against the headboard. She resists the urge to pull the covers up and clutch them to her chest like a shocked grandmother, and settles for saying, “What was that?”

“It was--”

“--And don’t say it was a kiss, I know it was a kiss, that’s not what I’m asking.” Susie’s hand is on her mouth, touching her lips, and she pulls them away. 

She looks over at Midge. Midge’s pyjamas are satin, something out of a magazine, and she looks more put-together to go to bed than Susie does to go to church, if she went to church. She’s still got her face on, mostly - maybe that should have been Susie’s first clue, because Midge always takes all her make-up off, no matter what time they finish, and puts on her night cream as well. It makes Susie feel unprepared in comparison.

“Should I apologise?” Midge says. She’s frowning, a little concentrating. She doesn’t look like she meant it as a joke, which is something. Her lipstick is a little smudged. 

“No, you don’t-- no apologies necessary,” Susie says, and jesus, it’s been - who was the last woman she kissed before Midge? That waitress at the Gaslight, the one that smoked like a chimney and kicked in her sleep? She’d quit to go work at the Cleo last year. But there had been build-up to that, there had been careful non-looks, and then careful looks, names dropped, the club on 49th mentioned, Susie had been pretty sure what was happening for at least two weeks before it did. The waitress- what was it, Ruth, Rachel, something? She hadn’t just got out of bed one night and kissed her. She’d waited for Susie to make the first move. “I’m just a little shocked - _surprised_ , that’s all.”

“Okay,” Midge says. She still sounds calm, which is making Susie even more nervous somehow.

“No! Just-- give me a minute, okay?” She knows Midge, she knows her life, and she’s never seen any sign of it - not that she’s been looking, but still.

“I have, yes.” Susie looks her in the eye, raises an eyebrow, and Midge rolls her eyes. “When I was at college. Stella Mayhew, she was-- I mean, when someone invites you back to her room to discuss Radclyffe Hall--”

“Where?”

“--You know something’s up. Radclyffe Hall, she’s a writer. _Well of Loneliness_.”

“Sounds like a riot. Didn’t you meet your husband in college?”

“I did, yes.” Midge shrugs. “I wasn’t seeing Stella then. We weren’t - it wasn’t a serious thing. Just, you know. Fun.”

“And you think it’ll be fun with me?” Susie says, because she’s never been called fun, doesn’t think she likes it. Not from Midge, from Midge she needs to be taken seriously.

“Well, I don’t think it’d be a chore.”

“I am not fun,” Susie says, firmly. 

Midge tilts her head, looking at Susie like - like she’s looking at Susie, like she’s seeing her. Susie fights the urge again to hide under the sheets. 

“It wouldn’t just be for fun,” Midge says. She moves forward, slowly, carefully, and Susie could stop her, now she knows what’s happening, but she doesn’t. She thinks about what Midge said about Lenny, about being with someone who knows you. She leans forward to meet Midge, and this time, she kisses her back. 

_Whether skies are gray or blue_

_Any place on earth will do_

_Just as long as I'm with you, my happiness_

My Happiness, Connie Francis

It means getting back to New York two days late, means an extra night in New Jersey, which Susie doesn’t actually mind, but feels as if she should, but Susie can make them fit an extra gig into their schedule to get them on the same bill as Lenny. It feels good, doing that - like Susie is someone who matters, who has a reputation that works in her favour for once. Susie can get her client on the same show as Lenny Bruce. Yes, that Lenny Bruce.

Plus, she likes it, being good at her job, likes Midge’s happiness when she sees the headline - and the size of the venue, better than the backrooms and small-town clubs of most of this tour. Midge walks to the stage, turns around to face the imaginary audience. She looks carefully posed, precise in the middle of stage. She holds out her arms to an imaginary audience, then jumps from the stage.

“Am I good or am I good?” Susie says. 

“Well, you’re certainly not bad,” Midge says, then hugs her. Midge is better at hugging Susie than Susie is at hugging her. “Yes, you’re the best manager I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll take that,” Susie says. It’s a good move, reminding people that matter that Mrs Maisel comes with the Lenny Bruce seal of approval, before she cleans up for Shy Baldwin. “You’re on for 45. It’s a Lenny Bruce show, but you’re the opening act so--”

“Don’t get us shut down before I have a chance to,” Lenny says. Midge smiles at him, bright and loud, her arm still around Susie. Lenny walks over. Susie can see him pause, just slightly, waiting for Midge’s cue.

Midge leans up to kiss him on the cheek, affectionate and publicly appropriate, one hand on his upper arm for balance. “Would I ever?” She says.

Lenny laughs and Susie snorts at the same time. Midge’s hand is still on Lenny’s arm, one arm still around Susie. “I’ll keep it clean. Cleanish. Mildly dirty,” she says. She pulls away slightly, but just enough that she can hook her arms around each of their's. “Come on,” she says, walking them to the door. “We’ve got some time to kill before the show. There’s got to be some place around here open for dinner.”

The End


End file.
